West was no imbecile. He understood the threat underneath the suave
words of the storekeeper. Rhinegoldt had gone to the penitentiary
because C.N. Morse had willed it so. The inference was that another
lawbreaker might go for the same reason. The trail boss knew that this
was no idle threat. Morse could put him behind the bars any time he
chose. The evidence was in his hands.

The bully glared at him. "You try that, C.N. Jus' try it once.
There'll be a sudden death in the Morse family if you do. Mebbe two.
Me, I'd gun you both for a copper cent. Don't fool yourself a minute."

"Kinda foolish talk, West. Don't buy you anything. Guess you better
go home an' cool off, hadn't you? I'll have your time made up to-day,
unless you want your check right now."

The broken teeth of the desperado clicked as his jaw clamped. He
looked from the smiling, steady-eyed trader to the brown-faced youth
who watched the scene with such cool, alert attention. He fought with
a wild, furious impulse in himself to go through with his threat,
to clean up and head out into the wilds. But some saving sense of
prudence held his hand. C.N. Morse was too big game for him.

"To hell with the check," he snarled, and swinging on his heel jingled
out of the office.

The nephew spoke first. "You got rid of him on purpose."

"Looked that way to you, did it?" the uncle asked in his usual
indirect way.